


Repose

by Empy (Empyreus)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Art, Artists, Desire, Domestic, Implied Relationships, M/M, Reflection, Sleep, Teasing, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-08
Updated: 2002-05-08
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:55:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1848652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empyreus/pseuds/Empy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Viggo gets ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repose

**Author's Note:**

> This is just mook, no slash. [That's a whole other chapter, kids.]
> 
> A little thousand word mook for my betas, whom I promised slash to read and who got none because I had writer's block. ;) SA/EW is for Mimm... and VM/OW might be for Dwalfling. Haven't gotten that quite sussed yet. I know it's for me. ;)
> 
> (Implied Viggo/Orli, implied Sean A/Lij.)

The curse of an artist. Or the blessing, this ability to immerse yourself in the details of an object as you mused on how best to portray it.

Sleeping people were a new favourite that had sprung into existence on the set, during the numbingly long hours of shooting. All of the Fellowship had developed the skill to fall asleep on cue, to preserve the fleeting minutes of rest. This carried on into the free time, with people falling asleep at inopportune times in inopportune places. Intentions of seeing a movie in someone's beach house became silent sleeping sessions in front of a blaring TV set.

Elijah, the youngest, the child, slept like a garden mouse. Like a Hobbit -- all curled up, the small hands tucked in to the chest, legs drawn up, until he was like a small warm bundle. The rest of the Hobbits - Sean, Billy and Dominic, slouched easily, inevitably waking up to cricked necks and aching backs, and of course missed no opportunity to complain.

Then there was Orli. Pretty boy Orlando, with his cat's grace, sleeping with mercurial ease in the awkward chairs. Limbless even now, legs open as he had skidded down, arms pushed upward by the armrests, and his head tilted so heavily backwards it looked as though he had broken his neck. The rosy mouth was slightly open, yet he didn't snore, save for the odd little snuffle.

Viggo loved to watch him sleep, losing himself in the rise and fall of the not-quite-skinny chest, the shade of sooty lashes against the careful pale base of his cheeks. Androgynous like his literary namesake. Awake, he shifted constantly, strapping young lad to shrinking violet to child.

A twitch in a long leg, a tic making the socked foot kick a little. Orli shifted, quite carelessly adjusting himself in his soft-worn jeans. Wholly innocent -- wholly male, this little gesture, and still Viggo felt a twinge at the pit of his stomach. A thought carelessly uncurled in his mind. He wanted to see how far he could push Orli, how long it took before Orli realized he was the one being led - preferably, at a point where there was no turning back. Cruel, well, arguably yes - but it was no more than a fitting revenge for all the times Orli tried to break his mask of calm.

Standing up, he risked a glance to the side, to the couch on which Sean and Elijah were sleeping, curled in on each other. Hard to tell where one ended and the other began, a natural progression of their roles. Uninhibited in sleep, not like the shy touches and looks they exchanged in what they thought were unseen moments. He would have wanted a picture of them, but the light had waned and he was reluctant to use a flash for fear of waking them. Let sleeping Hobbits lie.

The TV continued to flicker, the movie long since over and replaced by a garish infomercial. The coloured light washed over everything in the room, painting a sky-blue mask with mobile streaks of deepening shadows on Orli's face.

A slow smile forming on his face, Viggo crossed the floor to stand directly in front of Orli's sleeping form. Settling his knees on each side of Orli's thighs in the plush chair, he placed his hands on the armrests and leaned in, stopping just before his nose touched Orli's.

No reaction; the soft, deep breaths continuing unabated. Slight scent of hops, Viggo noted as he inhaled, forcing his breathing into sync with Orli's. When Orli exhaled, he inhaled, and vice versa.

Time passed out of meaning as he kneeled there, face to face and so close Orli's features blurred. "What am I doing?" timidly flitted through his head without leaving much of a mark. Oddly sensual to be standing so close, to be sharing breaths - a thing usually reserved for lovers - with a sleeper. He resisted the temptation to run his fingers over the sleep-mussed mohawk, thinking the last thing he needed was more tactile stimulation.

So easy to steal a kiss and leave like a thief in the night. No, that was no challenge, he decided, stilling the hands that wanted to slide up under Orli's shirt to map the warm skin. This was enough for the time being. The Mortensen cool would make sure he didn't trip up his little experiment before it evolved properly.

"Orlando," he finally breathed, sugar in his voice. "Lu an echui*, Legolas," he added after a moment's hesitation, drawing on the Sindar he had painstakingly learned.

Orli's lashes fluttered for a second, then stilled, as though he wasn't going to wake. Then, with drowsy slowness, he opened his eyes, blinking once. The dark brown of his eyes deepened to jet in the dimness, like his pupils had dilated to eclipse the iris.

"Viggo," he said, his voice a sleep-hoarse purr. He tilted his head back a fraction more, almost bringing their lips into contact, then smiled. "Morning," he went on, the pout of his lips on the 'm' exaggerated. Not a waver in his manner, not a sign of shock, Viggo noted. As though he'd been pleasantly surprised. A lover's wake-up.

Viggo steeled himself, thinking of Nazgul and ice and Hobbit feet to calm himself down and take his mind off how devastating an effect Orli had on him. Orli's left hand snaked around his wrist, trying to lift the hand clamped around the armrest and failing. A small shrug, and Orli pushed upward in the chair, twisting over the arm of the chair and spilling onto the floor in a sinuous movement that had "Legolas" written all over it.

"Do you want coffee, Vig?" he asked as he padded towards the kitchen, stretching along the way, the dark teeshirt riding up to reveal a flash of olive back. "Wake the Hobbits. Just not like you woke me - Sean's possessive."

The armrest creaked as Viggo's hands clenched.

He'd been had.

**Author's Note:**

> * "Lu an echui" is loosely "wake up". Word for word, its "time for awakening".


End file.
